Catching Demons
by lenity
Summary: She thought about Haymitch every time she picked up one of those bottles, and how they were so alike despite her agitation. She thought of Prim every time she swung one back. She thought of Peeta every time she gulped down a bottle. And then, when she had too many, she thought of nothing at all. And it was utter bliss. [ Peeta-Katniss ] [ slight AU ]


So, this is my first fic on here. I hope it's going to be alright (I know Katniss is a bit annoying at the beginning, but I wanted to take the approach of what life would be like if they struggled through the problem of her turning to alcohol). Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.**

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><p><em>They say that every moment to pass is a moment closer to finding yourself, and a moment closer to losing yourself.<em>

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><p>Her hands were shaking, spilling anything and everything she had attempted to get from her bowl and into her mouth. She threw her spoon across the table, giving into the bitter shouts and curses of frustration as the metal hit the wall.<p>

The empty bottles laying at random throughout her bedroom had become welcome distractions from her pains, from her nightmares. She let out a breath of air as she hooked her fingers around the neck of the closest one to her. It was warm, but she clutched to it like a lifeline. Had things been any different...

She thought about Haymitch every time she picked up one of those bottles, and how they were so alike despite her agitation. She thought of Prim every time she swung one back, guilt clawing its way up her throat and tears stinging her eyes. She thought of Peeta every time she drank a bottle, of Rue when she picked up the next. And then, when she had too many, she thought of nothing at all. And it was utter bliss.

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><p>She had started to lock her door. Sae still knocked every day, even upon discovering her childish antics.<p>

It just gave Katniss a headache.

Haymitch's gritty barks poundings on the door soon replaced Sae's tappings, and Katniss wished that Sae would come back. Not that it bothered her too much. She drank herself into oblivion the very night, because the alcohol pumping through her veins made her sleep better, and because the beating of her heart became louder than the beating on the door.

He left after ten minutes of knocking and shouting each day, coming around once in the morning and once after the sun had set. Katniss cried when the guilt piled so high that she couldn't stand the thought of herself, and slipped sleeping pills when she felt herself detaching from reality.

.

It had been maybe a week after his 'visits' had begun, but she didn't really know - it could have been days, or two or three weeks, too. She only knew Haymitch was impatient, and she was too busy reliving her horrors in the depths of her nightmares or cradling bottles to want to care. It was one of _those_ days, that Haymitch finally stepped it up a couple notches and broke the door down. The days where she felt so empty and alone that she couldn't even bother to climb out of bed for a drink, instead settling for the half-drunk whiskey sitting on the table beside her bed. Her heart was just a dull throb, clinging desperately onto any piece of her that it could find. She was afraid that there wasn't anything left.

She was staring, eyes dead to the world, at the dull plaster of the wall when footsteps clambered up the stairs, frantically making their way to her room. She knew it was Haymitch, because who else would want to see the '_Girl on Fire'_ extinguished with ghosts and anguish?

She didn't move; couldn't move. Her depression had all but taken over her body and mind, and she was as good as gone that in moment. A figure blocked her view as arms gripped onto her shoulders and shook them. Hard.

He was talking, too fast to understand, too panicked for her liking. She had done it again. She had hurt one of the few people she held so closely.

Now, Katniss only hoped he'd abandon her like the filth she was.

Everything was a blur. He was shouting at her, _to_ her, but she couldn't answer. Didn't want to answer. She was as good as dead. He slapped her, but she felt nothing but the deepening pool of shame.

"Just kill me."

It was uneven, and quiet, and scratchy - because she hadn't said a word since she got back - but it was filled with emotion. She hated that. But it was enough to make Haymitch freeze his actions, and stare at her. Was he finally seeing what she was? A pathetic girl, who slept beside the bottle? Did he see a broken basket case, who was too selfish to want to live? She was splitting right down the middle, right for him to see.

And he flew away, down the stairs. She heard the distinct sound of the door rattling against the floor as he stomped on it.

And then, finally, she sluggishly moved her arm to the nightstand, and took out her last two sleeping pills. She drowned them down with whiskey. When the sounds of frantic footsteps clambered up the stairs, she had already given into the darkness.


End file.
